Water under the bridge. The last time I was in Cooke City, Montana was 1999. We were skiing off an unnamed peak, earlier in the day having caught a sled ride most of the way out, and there bootpacking up and skiing short pitches in the bowl. I kicked off a shoe, and at the time powder straps were popular, a string that came off your boot and would plume out to help you locate a lost ski. I had neither, and spent the remainder of that day searching for my ski, finally finding it. Embarassing, I wanted to return and ski it today. Jump to present, two decades of backcountry skiing later and it’s early season in the Rockies of the American West. I no longer live in Colorado or even Alaska. The past decade as many of you know in the Himalayas, a pandemic today is bringing me back to my old haunts. Places that still remain relatively quiet, bison ply through main street and the raven calls at the resident fox next to the town’s currently only open restaurant. Here I am, I have a dog now, and I can see everything with new eyes. My perspective has changed, the place has not. Therein lies the beauty of experience, for most it’s another day powder skiing, and for me it is as well, yet maybe how we go is what makes all the difference.
-Luke Smithwick | 0954 | November 14, 2020 | Victor, Idaho | 6134ft
